With Great Power: Mobbed Up
by The Celtic Rogue
Summary: Peter Parker gets a line on a deal involving Norman Osborn. When he investigates it further, he runs into someone who offers him yet another deal.


With Great Power: Mobbed Up

Peter Parker looked back over his shoulder as he came in through the window. The sun was coming up, but it had been a productive evening. He'd stopped the Titanium Man and Chameleon's attempt on the life of a major informant, and in the process learned that the new Captain America had not killed his parents. Even with all the other turbulence in his life, he knew he'd sleep well that night.

He did. He awoke the next day next to his wife, refreshed and ready to take on the world. He immediately regretted thinking that though. His cell phone began ringing, which could only mean it was an emergency. Only a few people had that number, and the only one who used it casually was asleep next to him. Peter answered the call. "What's going on, Jarvis?" he asked. "Good morning, sir," came the butler's reply. "Master Stark asked me to telephone you and give you some news."

Peter's gut tightened. Lately, news had been pretty bad, for the most part. "What is it?" he asked.

"Master Stark has received some information about Norman Osborn's activities. As you know, Osborn has been cleared to hunt you down. It appears he is going to be using some unsavory characters to do it," Jarvis said. "What do you mean unsavory?" asked Peter. "Organized criminals of some sort, sir," Jarvis replied.

"Great," said Peter. "Is this information just to brighten my day, Jarvis?" "No, sir," Jarvis said. "Master Stark wished you to know the location and time of a certain meeting happening tonight, between Mr. Osborn and the criminals." Peter picked up a pen and pad of paper. "Lay it on me," he sighed.

Across town, in a small Italian café, Giuseppe DeSalvo looked up from a file of photos and documents to the man who had handed it to him. "This all checks out?" Giuseppe asked. His lieutenant, Johnny T, as he was known, nodded.

"It's true, boss. Our people checked it out. The pictures ain't been doctored, and the documents are all legit."

"So, somebody is lookin' to do some major business with the Torimoto Yakuza clan," Giuseppe mused. "And they're lookin' to make the deal on our turf? No friggin' way is that happenin'." Giuseppe stirred his coffee for a moment. "I want everybody in on this, Johnny T," he said. "I mean every gun we got. We close the clubs, the restaurants, everything. I want us ready to roll, in force, half an hour before this deal is supposed to go down." "But, boss," said Johnny T. "It's Friday night. You know how much money we're gonna lose?" Giuseppe glared at Johnny. "Get. It. Done," he said. "Sure, boss," Johnny T answered. "You got it." Giuseppe drank down the rest of his coffee, before clanking the cup down harshly on the saucer. "We're gonna teach these mooks that nobody does anything on our turf widdout our say so," he vowed.

Norman Osborn climbed into his waiting limo with a chrome, bulletproofed briefcase as the sun set. He chuckled quietly to himself for most of the drive. With the tech he was buying from the Torimotos, his plans would finally be on their way. The microchips were the key. Without them, he'd be back to the drawing board for how to get rid of Spider-Man. That's why the briefcase full of cash was bulletproof. He wasn't taking any chances. He'd even paid off a group of off-duty S.H.I.E.L.D. security guards to come along as back-up, and he'd paid them even more to keep quiet about who he was doing business with. If anyone found that little bit of information out, he'd be finished. The driver pulled the limo to a stop a while later at the docks where he was meeting the Torimotos. The guards pulled up behind in a black, unmarked humvee. Norman exited the car to do business.

_Well_, thought Peter, _at least the intel was right. Norman's definitely dealing with someone seedy. Someone he couldn't be seen knowing._ Peter had asked Jarvis why Tony didn't have S.H.I.E.L.D. deal with this, if he had the information. No solid evidence was the answer. All Tony had was the time and place. He didn't know who the other party was, or what was being traded for what.

That was Peter's mission here, he reminded himself. The evidence was what mattered. No matter how clear of a shot he had at Norman, the evidence was what came first. Peter had drilled that into his head the entire way to the docks. He had his camera ready and waiting. All he needed was for the dealmakers to show up.

He didn't have to wait long. Three black, unmarked cars pulled up at the docks, and Peter looked through the zoomed, night-vision lens of his camera. It was no good. The windows were tinted. He'd have to wait for the second group to get here. They arrived about a minute later, in a black, unmarked limo and humvee.

Peter saw Norman get out of the limo, carrying a briefcase, and promptly be surrounded by guards out of the humvee. People also came out of the other three limos, some with guns, and one with a briefcase. Peter got his camera ready by sticking it to the building ledge he was on. and setting the zoom. He'd set it on auto when the time was right, and then…_what?_ he thought. _Do I try to break up the deal, or do I haul my arachnid butt off to safety with the evidence?_ One memory of his uncle was all he needed to realize that the deal had to be broken up.

He continued to watch, until he saw something curious through the lens. There was a dot on Norman's leg, and it was moving. He didn't need to guess what that meant.

"I see you brought the correct fee, Mr. Osborn," Takeshi said with a smile. "Congratulations. You have bought yourself seven state-of-the-art T12-X microchips. These are the very best in robotics technology." Norman smiled back, and bowed as he accepted the briefcase Takeshi handed to him. "It has been a pleasure doing business with you, Torimoto-san," he said. "Likewise," answered Takeshi. "Rest assured, Torimoto will be the company I contact in the future, should I need anything else of this nature," Norman said. It was then that he saw the black SUVs on the edge of his vision. His eyes went wide. He had just been set up. That was when all the shooting started.

Peter's spider sense had worked itself into a frenzy when the SUVs started to pull up. He didn't hesitate for a moment before he sprung into action. He leapt from the rooftop, the camera still slung around his neck, and landed on the upper back of one of Norman's guards. He shouted, and Peter flung himself behind the humvee as bullets started to fly in every direction. He heard men screaming as they were hit, orders being shouted over profanities, and the impact of small and large arms fire.

He poked his head around the bumper of the humvee. It was chaos. Muzzle-flashes were everywhere, and he could hardly make out which figure in black was Norman. He needed to get that briefcase away from him if he could. Peter vaulted into the fray, slinging his fists, feet, and webs at anything that moved. _After all_, he figured. _They're all bad guys._

Peter then caught a flash of red, curly hair out of the corner of his eye. He followed it and tackled Norman with an almost primal scream. As he raised his fist to strike, Peter felt something impact against his chest. His first thought was that he'd been shot. He put his hand to his chest to feel what was left of his camera. "Sonuva-!" he shouted, before he threw himself to his left to avoid more bullets. The one who'd destroyed his camera was laying down covering fire for Norman to get away.

Peter's eyes narrowed. This was not going to happen. He shot a quick burst of web into the guard's eyes. As the man struggled to get it off, Peter closed in and landed a haymaker before he continued after Norman.

_That's odd_, Peter thought in mid-leap. _There weren't that many booming sounds before_. He bowled Norman over, and the contents of the briefcase spilled out. Peter counted seven computer chips. He reached to gather them up, but had to roll as his spider sense screamed at him. He avoided Norman's clumsy punch, but before he could land one of his own, Peter heard another boom and saw Norman spin from a bullet's impact. Peter looked over his shoulder and saw a lone figure striding methodically through the dying shootout. His black trench coat swung ponderously as he calmly and coolly took aim with a shotgun and fired, took aim and fired, and took aim and fired.

_You have to be joking me_, Peter thought. _Anyone but this guy…_ The man turned to take aim at a Japanese man firing an Uzi, and Peter caught a clear glimpse of a white skull painted on a flak jacket. Peter sighed. _This night just keeps getting better and better_, he thought. As the boom sounded out, Peter launched himself into the air, not believing he was being crazy enough to take on the Punisher.

Peter found himself with a stroke of luck, however, when the Punisher turned to deal with another criminal immediately after he fired, not seeing Peter leaping at him. Peter landed a hard right cross to the base of the Punisher's skull. The big man crumbled under the force of the sucker punch, leaving Peter to deal with the rest of the criminals.

He took stock of the situation. There were only two men left standing, and neither of them were Norman. Peter cursed silently before webbing the two men up. It was time he figured out just how this had gone so wrong.

He stood over them, and summoned the deepest, gravelliest voice he could before he asked, "What's going on here?!" One of the men, dressed all in black, with a gold crucifix necklace and slicked-back black hair, spit at him. Peter popped his stingers and asked again. The man told him everything about how his family had found out about the deal happening with a rival crime group on their turf. He cursed audibly this time, and turned around to find the Punisher getting to his feet. "Jesus," Peter muttered before he headed back for the rooftops. The night was a bust. Norman got away with the chips, Peter's photo evidence was no good, and all he had to show for it was a bunch of dead and critically wounded crooks.

The sirens were already sounding, and Peter did not want to be there when the cops showed up, especially with the Punisher there. As Peter landed on the rooftop, his spider sense went off just before he felt a sharp pain in his shoulder, and then another in the back of his thigh, followed by a third in his calf. His vision went blurry, and he looked back toward the docks to see the Punisher aiming a gun at him. "Crap," Peter groaned, before he fell into a stack of pallets at the base of the building.

Peter awoke to a sharp pain in his arm. He winced and blinked his eyes repeatedly. Cold water splashed onto his face. He blinked some more, and the blurriness began to clear from his vision. He looked down to find a needle in his arm and the Punisher standing over him. "Castle," Peter began. "Shut up, wallcrawler," the vigilante snapped. He removed the needle from Peter's arm and put a small bandage over the area.

"Don't worry," said the Punisher. "That was just a little something to counteract the tranqs. Why were you there, Parker? Why were you in the middle of a shootout between the mob and the Yakuza?" "I don't know," Peter answered. "Seemed like a fun way to spend my Friday night." Frank Castle glared at him. "Now is not a good time to be witty, Parker," he warned.

Peter realized he was tied to a chair with steel cables and chains that were attached to the floor. He flexed and strained against them but pain shot through his body. He remembered his fall and sighed. _ Yep,_ he thought. _Better and better_.

"Look, Castle," Peter said. "I got word that Norman Osborn was buying something there tonight. I was there to get some solid evidence so that S.H.I.E.L.D. could put him away." The Punisher pulled up a chair. "So you sold out, huh?" he said. "You went back to the registered side of things?" Peter shook his head. "I just have some friends there who help me out with tips now and then," he answered.

The two men sat in silence for a while before Castle broke it. "You sucker punched me," he said. Peter smiled nervously. "Sorry about that. It's just, you know, in a firefight like that, I couldn't tell who was who, and I had no idea you'd be there," he lied. Castle considered it for a moment before he unlocked the chains and cables.

"You want something to eat?" Castle offered. "Hot Pockets or something?" Peter grimaced. "No thanks," he said. "A friend linked me to a website that kind of ruined a few food items for me, Hot Pockets being one of them. And Oreos. And chili dogs. And strawberry cheesecake." _Curse you, Dr. Strange_, Peter thought. Castle raised an eyebrow. "Someone ruined the joy of Oreos for you?" he asked. "Now that is unforgivable." Peter gave a slight chuckle, wondering when Castle had found a sense of humor.

"Parker," said Castle. "I have a deal for you." "I'm listening," said Peter. "You get some usernames and passwords out of these friends of yours at S.H.I.E.L.D., for say, some satellite imaging and database servers, I'll do my very best to figure out what Osborn was buying and why."

"What do you get out of it?" asked Peter. "Well," answered Castle. "With satellite imaging and databases from S.H.I.E.L.D., I can hunt some bigger game. Besides, I've been trying to bust up that Yakuza group for a while. I figure I can do you a solid, since it's on my way."

"When you say 'your best'?" asked Peter. "You mean-" "I mean I will do my best," Castle interrupted. "And yes, that might mean a slightly higher body count, if that's what you're getting at." "Look," said Peter. "Castle, I can't just agree to this when I know people are going to die because of it." "More people," Castle corrected. "The Yakuza are coming down, one way or the other. All this means is that I'd be more thorough. Ask a few questions before I shoot."

Peter looked at his feet. "Deal," he muttered. "Good," said Castle. "As soon as I have some passwords, I'll get right on this Osborn thing." "Thanks," Peter said as he swung his way back home. His day had gone from being awesome to being awful. Every inch of him hurt, and he couldn't shake the feeling that he'd turned down a deal from one devil only to agree to one from a second.


End file.
